


To Break These Chains

by NextFewWords



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NextFewWords/pseuds/NextFewWords
Summary: Prison AU: When a new prisoner is transferred to the Faybelle Rivers Detention Centre, fellow prisoner Killian Jones immediately takes a keen interest in her. Together they fight the dark pasts that haunt them and try to find solace in the hell that imprisons them.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I wrote this while I have a head cold and mild fever so I apologize in advance if this is spotty. I might go over it again when I'm feeling better.

If Hell was a place on Earth, there was no doubt in an inmate’s mind that that place was the Faybelle Rivers Detention Centre.

Everyone in Storybrooke knew that the common criminals were sent to one of the lower security prisons near the inner city; no lawmaker was going to waste taxpayer money to ship off a jewelry thief to the outskirts of town - a jewelry thief whose entire haul probably amounted to less than the salary of the prison guard sent to watch him - only to have to ship him in again for his parole hearing in a handful of weeks. Those criminals would keep inside the tall walls of their cell and blissfully count the days before they could walk free, all the while preaching to anyone who would listen that they had ‘changed their ways’.

But when residents saw the prison transport van rumble by in the early mornings before dawn and start moving slowly out of the city limits, they knew that that chained passenger in the back was one of the _real_ ones. Only serious criminals were ever sent to the ‘Rivers’, ranging anywhere from high profile drug dealers and  career con artists to kidnappers and murderers.  

Unfortunately for Killian Jones, the long ride to the prison nine months ago had been a rough one. Some nights he swore he could still feel the steel grip of the prison transport guards’ fingers digging into his arms, dragging him awkwardly toward the van as camera flashes lit up his vision. His shackled feet had made it difficult to walk properly, giving the hounding reported ample time to bombard him with questions that he would never answer. _Why did you do it? What do you have to say to the victim’s family? Do you have any remorse?_ He had kept his eyes trained on his feet throughout the questioning, but sometimes he liked to imagine that he had kept his chin up and stared each and every one of them down in warning.  

On nights like tonight, however, he would lie on his small cot, hands reached back and under to pillow his head, and try to forget. He lay with his eyes closed and let his mind wander over the story he had read that day, letting the words and scenes wash over him. He had read dozens of books since his incarceration, opting to hide out in the prison’s small library instead of joining the rest of the prisoners in the exercise yard, but he'd never felt himself be as engrossed in a book as he did with  _20 000 Leagues Under the Sea_. It had taken weeks of practice, but soon enough the rough feeling of the prison jumpsuit and the sounds of angry muttering echoing from a cell somewhere down the row melted away and were replaced with the gentle sounds of the ocean lapping against the hull of a giant submarine as it broke the surface of the water.

“Jones, you asleep?” 

For a second, Killian contemplated ignoring the whispered call of his cellmate and returning to his makeshift meditation, but experience had told him that the man would keep pushing him until he responded. He let out a breath, not opening his eyes. “What is it, Scarlet?”

He heard the man shuffle on his cot, eager to share his news. He and Scarlet weren’t exactly friends, per say, but Will had elected in the first week of his stay that he would be the eyes and ears of the facility, a role that he had taken to with ease. “I overheard from a couple o’ the guards that we’re getting a new prisoner tomorrow.”

“Shocking, mate.”

“Just hold on and lemme finish! I heard,” Will paused, clearly attempting to draw out the suspense, “that it’s a _lady_ prisoner.”

A woman? That was rarer, but not unheard of for the prison. They were a co-ed facility, probably due to limited budgeting more than anything else, and while the majority of the inmates were male, the facility had one female cell block that housed around a dozen femme fatales whose crimes were too serious for the lower security prison.   

Killian grinned mockingly, opening his eyes to glance at where Scarlet sat on his cot, propped up against the wall behind him. “And you plan to… what? Seduce her with the ol’ Will Scarlet charm?”

“Oi, don’t laugh. You never know, maybe she’s a pretty little lady who just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The River’s a frightening place for a lass like that.” Killian could practically hear Will’s grin widen. “Might need a shoulder to cry on. Couldn’t deny a lass that, could I?”

“Or maybe she’s in for drowning puppies or eating children,” Killian offered.

Will scoffed, offended. “For the last time, Jones, she only _sorta_ looked like the dalmatian witch from the bloody cartoon.” They had never actually learned what the prisoner nicknamed Cruella De Vil had been sent in for, but the inmates had teased Scarlet for weeks when it became apparent that the black and white haired cougar had set her eyes upon the slightly thief.    

“Whatever you say, mate.”

It was at that moment that the overhead lights in the row shut off, accompanied by the dull mechanical sound of someone pulling a heavy leaver. “Lights out,” one of the guards called from his post.

Killian turned away from his cellmate, stretching back out on his mattress. His eyes lingered on the dim emergency lights that dotted the ceilings as he listened to the shuffling of thin sheets being pulled back and a body being made comfortable on the narrow cot. Moments later the sounds ceased entirely and Killian enjoyed a few minutes of pure silence before loud snoring filled the cell.

His mind flickered back to the news Will had just shared and for a brief moment Killian felt pity for the new inmate. Being an inmate at Faybelle Rivers wasn’t a walk in the park to begin with, but he imagined being a female prisoner locked in with a pen of testosterone-filled ruffians was worse. _What did a woman have to do to end up in a place like this?_

 

*********

 

Killian stood at attention as he watched the guard slide open the door to his cell. Time was hard to keep track of in the facility given that there weren’t any calendars posted where the inmates could see them, not that anyone asked. Hardly any of the prisoners had visitors and even fewer were ever called for parole hearings.

That said, Killian had learned quickly to measure the days by the guards’ shift changes. Today must have been a Tuesday; the tall blond guard was working today, a man who the female prisoners had taken to calling ‘Prince Charming’, presumably because of his good looks and softer handling of the prisoners.

After completing the morning cell checks and roll call, the row of inmates followed Charming out of the cell block and into the large cafeteria. Rows of metal tables were organized in the centre of the room and Killian spotted a few lightly armed guards lingering around the perimeter, paper coffee cups in hand. The guards all held the same disinterested look on their faces as if they were thinking about being literally anywhere else, but the inmates knew better. They all saw how a guard’s hands would twitch to where their baton and pepper spray were strapped whenever a conversation became too heated or a man got too fidgety in their seat.

Killian stood in line behind Will and waited patiently for the elderly cook to hand him his tray of school-style lunches. It was the same breakfast every day, unless there was a particularly big holiday; plain porridge, two slices of toast, and a piece of fruit. He had only spent one holiday in the facility so far, but the ‘special’ breakfast had consisted of baked beans instead of porridge and an extra apple each. I wasn’t much, but Killian had heard from another prisoner that two inmates had died a few years back after a particularly bad bout of food poisoning and that this ‘new menu’ was the result.

He sat down in his usual seat near the window, Will taking up a spot to his right. He was just about to bring a spoonful of the hot gruel to his lips when he heard the room begin to hum with excitement. Will nudged him in the side with his elbow and nodded in the direction that everyone else was facing. Craning his neck, Killian looked towards the double doors of the room.

Standing in the middle of the doorway was a slender blond woman in an orange jumpsuit, flanked on one side by a pixie-haired female guard.

Ah yes, the new inmate.

Killian watched as the brunette began speaking to her in a hushed tone, clearly giving the prisoner instructions on how to obtain her morning meal. The guard finished her instructions by gesturing to the seats in the middle of the room and as the fair haired woman followed her motion, she caught his eye from across the room.

Bright green eyes met his and Killian felt all of the air leave his lungs. _Will was right, for once_ , he thought absently. _The woman was bloody gorgeous_.

He thought he heard Will make a low hum of approval.

If the woman noticed his reaction, she gave no indication. He watched - well, stared -  as she turned back to the guard and muttered something under her breath. The guard gave her a half smile that was probably meant to be reassuring before walking over to join Prince Charming, who immediately handed her one of the two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

The room erupted in whispers as all eyes followed the new girl as she made her way to the counter to receive her tray. Once again, the woman seemed to pay no attention to the other occupants in the room, her back straight and jaw set as her rations were placed in front of her. 

Ashamed at his gawking and feeling like a horny teenager who was seeing a girl for the first time, Killian let his eyes drop back to the table in front of him. He picked up his spoon and took a few bites of the grey oatmeal. He was about to wash the mouthful down with a sip of coffee when he heard a man’s voice boom across the room. “They didn’t tell me that the new girl was gonna be so pretty.”

Hans. Dammit.

If Will had elected himself as the watchguard of the facility, then Hans had elected to make himself the personal ‘welcoming committee’ of all the new prisoners. Especially for the women.

The last time it had happened, Killian had still been wet behind the ears, having been only a resident in the facility for only a few weeks. He had bravely marched up to Hans and told him in no uncertain terms what he should do with his outstretched hand. The guards had, of course, only intervened after Killian had already been pinned to the floor, a lucky shot to his right eye blurring his vision. He had felt pretty good about himself as he picked himself off the floor, so he had been shocked to receive nothing but hard glares from the girl he had tried to protect. His cellmate would later tell him not to interfere in a situation like that, that it would only lead to worse things later on for the both of them. Let the girl take care of herself, he’d been told.  

To Killian, though, it only gave him another reason to dislike this place.

Watching the scene in front of him now, Killian couldn’t help but tense. Hans was standing in front of the girl, blocking her path to the tables. Killian couldn’t see the girl’s face from where he was sitting, but he thought he grip flex on the tray she was carrying in her hands.

“Don’t do it, mate,” Will warned in a low voice, apparently sensing Killian’s tension. Killian tried to calm his anger, letting a long breath escape through his nose.

But then Hans let loose a barking laugh and Killian was up from his seat.

Killian hadn’t felt his legs move, but suddenly he was striding up to the tall man. He stopped slightly back from the duo, making sure he was standing slightly out of the burly man’s reach. “Leave the lass be, mate.”

Hans glanced at him, a sneer on his face. “I’m just making myself known to the newbie. Can’t a man be polite to a fine looking lady?”

“I’m sure she’s gotten your message loud and clear.” Killian returned the glare, but attempted to keep his voice calm. The second that a prisoner laid a hand on another inmate, the guards would step in. And the guards were not known for being understanding when breaking up a fight.

Hans laughed again, turning to face Killian entirely. “Oh come now, haven’t we been here before?” Stalking closer to him, he added, “Or maybe you need a reminder of how this ended last time.”  

Before Killian could open his mouth to answer, a feminine voice cut him off.

“Are you boys done with your pissing contest?” 

Both men turned to stare at the blond haired beauty. If Killian had thought she would be unnerved by the confrontation, he couldn’t have been more wrong. In fact, the woman in front of him seemed almost… bored. She was staring at the two men as though they were children having a squabble in the playground. When it was clear that she wasn’t getting an answer to her question, she added, “If you aren’t, I’m going to have to find a place to sit. But feel free to beat each other into the dirt, if that’s what gets your rocks off.”    

Killian’s jaw dropped. No newbie had ever spoken to Hans like that before, not even the men. Sure, some of the new men had taken their shots at him in attempt for dominance, but they had always seemed a bit too frightened as they had said it and Hans had pounced.

Hans was looking at the girl as though she had spoken another language, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Taking advantage of their stunned silence, she pushed past the two men with ease and walked off in the direction of the tables. Killian followed her lead and likewise made his way back to where his food lay half-eaten on his tray. He caught Will’s gaze and found the man grinning from ear to ear with his fingers interlaced behind his head, having apparently heard every word of the interaction. Even the guards in the periphery of his vision seemed to relax back into their positions, their hands slowly inching back away from their weapons.  

Winding his way back to his seat, Killian’s was surprised for the second time in under a minute as he watched the girl set her tray down at one of the tables and swing her legs over the side of the bench. At _his_ table.

His eyebrows shot up and he quickened his pace.

Reaching his seat, he sat down with a soft thud and took in the girl sitting across from him. She hadn’t looked up at his arrival, and had instead began examining the food in front of her as though she was examining battle maps. Apparently finding nothing appealing about the grey mush and soggy bread, she reached back to tighten her pony tail, tucked the remaining loose strands behind her ear and reached for her apple.

“What are you doing here?” Killian asked, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer.

The girl glanced up at that and Killian was once again met with her startlingly green eyes.

“What do you mean?” She asked slowly, clearly confused. “In prison?” 

“No, here. Sitting with me. Now.” 

“Was this seat taken already?”

“No.” 

The girl looked confused. “Then I don’t get your meaning.”

Killian paused, thinking of how to phrase his next words. “The girls - er, women - here tend to sit together on the other side of the room. Female prisoners don’t usually sit with the men.”

Breaking his gaze for a moment to look toward the corner of the room where a few tables were occupied by a group of women in orange jumpsuits, the blond woman frowned slightly. “The guards never said there was any rule about seating assignment.”

“There isn’t,” Will added quickly, “Killian here has just been here too long. Ignore him”.   

It wasn’t a rule; indeed, seating assignment for mealtimes was one of the few things in the facility that was not regulated, likely due to time and personnel constraints. But the women never _willingly_ subjected themselves to spending time with the men, much in the same way that seals never openly invited the attention of orcas. If survival in prison was a skill, the women here had perfected it, and the first step was to distance yourself from the lusting men.

The woman hummed non committedly at Will’s remark and took a bite from her apple.

Remembering the food in front of him, Killian took another spoonful of his now cold porridge. If nothing else, it gave him something to do while he pondered the woman in front of him. She was young, maybe a couple of years younger than himself, though her face showed clear signs of exhaustion. She has slight purple bruising under her eyes, as though she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a long time, and behind her poised exterior rippled a tension that suggested she was probably keenly aware of the location of every exit in the room. That wasn’t uncommon here. Everyone seemed to always be one second away from making a run for it, held back only by the knowledge that being dragged back kicking and screaming was more trouble that it was worth.

Glancing away from her face, he noted how she had rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, revealing long, toned arms. She seemed fit, though that part was difficult to tell; her prison uniform seemed slightly baggy on her now that he looked closely. That didn’t necessarily mean much. Prison transfers were tedious things and properly fitted uniforms were often low on the priority list.

Chewing and swallowing, he decided to break the silence before any hopes of furthering the conversation disappeared.

“My name is Killian. Killian Jones. He’s Will,” he said, gesturing toward his cellmate as he spoke his name.   

“Pleasure to meet you both.” She sounded indifferent.  

“Believe me, the pleasure is all ours, ma’am,” Will piped in, earning an eyeroll from Killian, but continuing anyways, “Can I ask your name?”

The girl looked thoughtful for a moment as she chewed, as though she wasn’t sure whether or not to lie. “My name is Emma,” she said simply.   

“Excellent. And what are you in here for, Miss Emma?”

“Will!” Killian nudged the man sharply in the ribs with his elbow.

Will yelped, clutching at his ribs. “What? You know you’re curious too!” Turning back to Emma, he asked, “What was it? Armed robbery? Identity theft? It wasn’t drowning puppies, was it? Because Killian and I have this thing-”

The second hit was harder and knocked the wind out of Will’s lungs, leaving him gasping. 

Forcing his face into something softer when he turned back to her, Killian gave the girl - _Emma_ \- an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about Will; he can be an ass sometimes. You don’t have to answer that, love. In fact, maybe it’s best you don’t humour him.”  

“It’s fine.” Emma didn’t appear phased by Will’s outburst. Looking steadily into Killian’s eyes, she directed her next question at him instead. “Do you want to know?” 

Killian was thrown, unsure of how to proceed. The entire conversation had gone to hell in his eyes and he wasn’t quite sure how best to repair it at this point. He opted to stay quiet, allowing her to take the lead.

Searching his eyes and seeming to come to a conclusion, she straightened up and gave an answer that immediately made Will choke on his coffee and Killian’s breath catch in his throat.

“I’m here for murdering my boyfriend.”

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind reviews! Here's another chapter, please enjoy :)

The trio finished the rest of their meal in silence after that.

Emma couldn’t say she hadn’t expected it. Most people who learned of her crime had the same reaction; a startled ‘oh’ of surprise followed by a silent wish that she would elaborate more. She could see it in their eyes, the swarm of questions they were too afraid to ask. Was it in self-defence? Was she having a torrid love affair with a wealthy businessman that ended terribly? Was it a crime of passion? People were always wanting to know - to _justify_ \- her crime, as if a woman couldn’t possibly commit such horrible sins without cause. Over the past few months since her arrest, Emma had learned to ignore their pitying looks.

Still, Emma couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at the look of hesitation and wariness in the startlingly blue eyes of the man sitting across from her.

Fine, perhaps it had been a bit mean to mess with the only two inmates she had encountered, but it wasn’t her fault. She had seen the way that they had all stared at her as she had received her briefing from the guard, looking as though they would swallow her whole the first chance they got. But Emma was a survivor and she knew how to thrive in an all boys world. Her years bouncing from foster home to foster home hadn’t given her much, but it had at least given her that.

So when Hans had slinked up to her and introduced himself as her new ‘guardian angel’, a position that undoubtedly came with a very steep price, Emma had been ready. She had held her ground and kindly responded that she ‘had only ever heard of one angel who had ever landed himself in hell’ and that she wouldn’t be making any deals with _that_ angel, prompting a laugh from the burly man.

When Killian had appeared moments later, it had caught her off guard. She had seen him watching her before, clearly just as curious as everyone else to see the fresh meat. But his eyes had somehow been softer than the others and he had watched her in the same way that a researcher would watch a gazelle make its way around a pack of slumbering lions. Not quite pitying, but cautious and keenly aware that the entire scene could change in an instant.

Perhaps that was why she had chosen to follow him back to his table. He was perceptive and clearly in tune with the dynamics of the facility, if his handling of Hans was any indication. She had seen prisoners snap and grab another inmate in the heat of the moment and knew how quickly the situation could spiral out of control. Killian had been reserved, even as she had seen the tension in him boiling, his jaw ticking furiously. She could use someone like that.

Admitting her crime to them had been an unfortunate necessity. Undue speculation was never a good thing in prison and the fact that her crime was a heinous one would only ensure that she would be left alone by some of the smaller players. Cowards didn’t tend to like a woman who was capable of taking down one of their own.

Emma had just finished her apple when the head guard announced that it was time for clean up. Each prisoner was expected to dispose of their garbage and return their trays in an orderly fashion. It reminded her of being back in middle school again.

She had just finished adding her tray to the stack when she felt a body sidle up behind her. Emma stiffened, her body preparing itself in an immediate fight or flight response. But the attack never came.

“Good luck,” came a low voice from behind her.

She did turn around at that, finding herself face to face with Killian, his blue eyes searching hers. He reached around her to place his tray on top of hers before finally breaking his gaze and turning to join the rest of the prisoners who were making their way out of the cafeteria.

 _What the hell was that?_ Emma thought, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Shaking off the encounter and trying very hard to pretend that the dark haired man was not, in fact, the source of the deep flush that had crept over her face, Emma followed suit. She wasn’t sure where she was going exactly, though a large portion of her brain was screaming at her to find Killian and ask him just what the _hell_ he had meant by his comment, when all of a sudden a hand reached out to stop her.

“Miss Swan?”

It was the petite guard who had escorted her to the cafeteria an hour ago. Glancing down at the stitched name tag on her uniform, Emma remembered her name. _Blanchard, M.M_. “You’ll need to come with me. You’re on laundry duty today.”

Emma glanced back over her shoulder to the hallway that she had seen Killian disappear down, but he was long gone. The guard gave her a small smile and began tugging her toward the other end of the hall.

“Now, sweetie,” she began, “every inmate in the prison has to pull their weight and do their fair share of the work around here. Every day you’ll be assigned a new shift, which will be announced at roll call in the morning. Are you following?” Emma gave a short nod.

“Fantastic,” the guard continued, “you’ll be doing your shifts with the people on your row, so they’ll help you figure out the ropes.”

“I highly doubt that,” Emma muttered under her breath. Since when had prison guards become so annoyingly optimistic?

The guard shrugged, her easy smile still plastered across her petite face. 

“It’ll take some getting used to, but you’ll settle in quickly. Think of this as a sort of summer camp, except with stricter rules and less water sports.”

“Yeah, and where the the campers are being killed by other campers instead of by bears.”

The guard stopped, her face turning serious in an instant. “If you have any trouble with any of the inmates, about anything at all, you inform your closest attendant immediately. Do _not_ try to handle the situation yourself, do you hear me?”

If Emma had thought that the carefree happy-go-lucky expression on the guard was unnerving, it was nothing compared to the dark look that had replaced it. Emma felt a slight shiver run down her spine. For a split second, Emma thought she caught a glimpse of the strength and steel behind the woman’s baby face.

Without further ado, the guard started walking again and Emma suddenly found herself scrambling to catch up.

The guard led her out of the main building and into an open courtyard, next to what Emma assumed to be the recreation yard. By the time they had reached the door to one of the smaller out buildings that sat in the far corner, the brunette’s dark mood had seemingly disappeared and she had begun her light hearted chit chat again.

When they entered the small one-room building, Emma found it already occupied by a dozen other female inmates. The tall blond guard who had been speaking to the group looked up briefly upon the arrival of the two women, giving them a nod of acknowledgement before jumping back into giving her instructions for the day. Emma felt a gentle nudge at her shoulder, a clear cue that she should join the other women in the centre of the room.

She probably should have been listening to the guard’s directions about their tasks for the morning given that she would be expected to perform said tasks in just a few moments, but Emma couldn’t help but let her eyes wander around the room. There were large, industrial sized washers and dryers lining two walls, and buckets of powdered detergent stacked high in the corner. The air smelled strongly of soap and laundry lint, though Emma thought she could just make out the slight smell of mold that lined the cracks in the walls. The row of heavy fans bolted to the ceiling above her likely produced more noise than air flow, she thought.

Her attention was brought back to the room when there was a bustle of movement around her. Apparently the briefing was over and the inmates had begun picking up baskets of soiled laundry and lugging them over to the machines. Unsure of what to do, Emma grabbed a basket and followed the nearest inmate to one of the washers.

Prying open the lid to the washer, the woman began shoving fist fulls of orange jumpsuits into the machine. Emma stood back, waiting her turn as she clutching her own load to her chest.

“It’ll take twice as long if you just stand there,” the woman said, not looking up.

“What?”

“Put your load in with mine. It’ll go faster if we work at the same time.”

Emma took a hesitant step forward and began tossing the contents of her basket into the drum.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You can come closer. I don’t bite.”

“Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire much confidence.” 

“Well look who has guts after all,” the woman laughed, before turning to call to a woman across the room, “The new girl’s got guts, Elsa!”

“Oh leave her alone, Tamara,” the flaxen haired prisoner responded with a snort.

“Where would be the fun in that?” She complained.

“Ladies,” came a stern warning from the dark haired guard. The guards had been conversing quiety by the door but were quick to look up at the sound of the raised voices. Emma watched as the guard’s eyes momentarily locked with hers before returning back to her conversation.

“You don’t have to worry about Snow White over there,” the woman, Tamara, said as she turned back to her work, “she’s harmless.”

Emma frowned in confusion. “Snow White?”

“Yeah we call her that because she’s always flirting with the hot guard from Cell Block C. We call him Prince Charming,” Tamara snickered, “I don’t think they realize how obvious it is. Idiots.”

Looking past the bulky uniform, Emma could see her resemblance to Snow White. With her rosy cheeks and slender jaw, she certainly looked the part of a disney princess.

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” came a small voice to Emma’s side, where a baby faced redhead was filling her own machine.

Tamara snorted. “You _would_ think so, wouldn’t you, Ariel.”  

The girl shot Tamara a look, turning her nose up at her.

“Ariel, like the mermaid?” Emma asked.

“I grew up on the coast and my mom had a thing for princesses,” Ariel shrugged, before narrowing her eyes, “Is that a problem?”

Emma said nothing, but Tamara continued on, clearly attempting to get a rise out of the girl. “Ariel was the one to give them the pretty nicknames in the first place. That girl could make a fairy tale out of anyone. Hey, tell her what you call the other guard. Miss Boyd.”

When it was clear that Ariel was not going to take the bait, Tamara answered for her. “She calls her Cinderella, because she’s always on duty for the laundry shift.”

A ball of orange cloth hit Tamara square in the jaw at that, and Emma had to hold back her laughter as the guards had to drag the two girls off each other. Clearly it didn’t take much to hit a nerve around here.

When both girls had calmed down, they were released to finish up their chores. Emma had just finished adding the soap to her machine and was brushing her hands on her thighs when the guard, Snow White, approached her. “If you’re finished, you can leave with the other girls for your recreation time.”   

Emma stood silent. She hadn’t even considered what she would do with her free time at the prison. A vision of piercing blue eyes and dark scruff flitted across her mind, but she pushed it away. The cafeteria might have been co-ed out of necessity, but she highly doubted that the leisure activities would be as liberal with their segregation, not with the available guards spread so thin around the facility.

Snow must have noticed her hesitance and was quick to jump to her rescue. “You have a few choices. Most of the women go to the recreation yard, but there’s cable TV in the commons and some art supplies in the drawing room if you’d prefer that. We also have volunteers from the seminary down the road that come by on Sundays.”

Before being transferred to Faybelle Rivers, Emma had spent most of her time in her temporary cell at the jailhouse. It had taken weeks to get through the preliminary hearings for her case, and she had spent most of that time reading and rereading the letters from her court appointed lawyer.

“Does this place have a library?” Emma asked suddenly.

Snow’s eyebrows shot up at the question, as if she had just asked to see the facility’s aquarium. “Oh, well, yes. It’s hardly used, but I can take you there if you’d like.”   

Emma nodded and listened as the guard spoke into the small radio microphone clipped to her shoulder. When she had finished her update, Snow motioned for her to follow her as she walked back towards the main building.

They passed the cafeteria, the muffled sound of a radio blaring from somewhere in the kitchen. She made to peek into the room, but Snow ushered her forward with a gentle hand to her back.

After a few twists and turns through the maze of grey hallways, Emma finally found herself in the doorway of a small room. By the looks of it, Emma thought someone had clearly tried to make the room more cozy than it had any business being, considering where it was. The walls were covered in overcrowded rows of books that appeared as if they had received little love over the years; many had torn spines or covers so faded that the titles were no longer legible. The sparse furniture in the room all looked like it had been taken straight out of a yard sale from a senior centre. A dark patterned rug lay across the floor, thinned by years of being tread on by heavy uniformed boots, and a pair of mismatched winged armchairs sat in the corner beneath tall antique lamps. Emma was only surprised that there wasn’t more dust.

Just then, a petite brunette appeared from out of the small storage closet behind the desk, letting out an ‘oh’ of surprise as she took in her visitors.

“Good morning, Belle,” the guard started with a polite smile, “I have someone here who is looking for a book, I believe.”

The librarian’s face immediately lit up, turning her attention to Emma. “What can I help you find? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know? I guess... I didn’t have anything in mind, exactly,” Emma stuttered, uncomfortable being the focus of attention. 

The librarian didn’t miss a beat, “Oh that’s alright, I’m sure we can find you something.”

At that, Belle began running through the list of books that the small library had to offer, making sure to point out the new ones that had just come in as well as some of her own personal favourites. Emma followed along, listening politely and nodding when she thought she should. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma watched the guard drag over a small wooden stool from behind the librarian’s desk and begin to make herself comfortable next to the door.

After being given a hefty stack of books to choose from, Emma made her way over to one of the armchairs. Tucking her legs underneath her and flicking on the lamp beside her, she picked up the first book and began to read.

She was three chapters in, reading a swashbuckling tale about pirates fleeing persecution from the king’s navy, when she felt someone approach her. Looking up, she watched as Belle took the seat across from her, her hands folded in her lap.

“How are you finding the book?” The librarian asked eagerly.

Emma tried to match the woman’s earnesty, “It’s fine. Great, even.”

The woman looked relieved. “That’s good.” Then after a pause, she added, “We don’t get a lot of visitors here.”

Sensing the woman’s eagerness for company, Emma gently placed her book to the side, making sure to mark her place first. “Really? That surprising.”

“I suppose most of the inmates prefer the TV in the lounge,” the woman offered, sadly, “Besides, I don’t think the warden likes splitting the guards up. It’s easier to keep an eye on everyone when everyone’s together, you know? The prisoners aren’t interested enough to come looking for the library and so the guards don’t offer.”  

Emma hummed, turning to look toward where Snow White was sitting on her stool. She had picked up a book as well and looked to be completely engrossed with whatever book it was. The librarian followed her gaze.

“You don’t have to worry about Mary Margaret. She’s one of the good ones.” Belle smiled fondly at her friend. “Killian says he starts to forget his guard is even here by the end of his break.”

That got Emma’s attention, her eyes snapping back to Belle’s face. “Killian?”

“Oh, Killian is one of the inmates here. He’s really the only prisoner who comes here regularly.”

Interesting, Emma thought. She decided to push further. “I met him this morning. What do you know about him?”

Belle seemed to think about her answer. “He’s nice,” she settled with, “He was a bit quiet at first, but he really loves his books. When you get him started on a book, he can go on and on about it. He has good taste, too.”

Emma smiled to herself, filing the information away for later. She chatted with Belle for the rest of her break, surprising herself at how nice it was to just sit and talk to someone. Not once did the librarian bring up the subject of her incarceration, for which Emma was grateful.

Emma’s suspicions about the rotating schedule had turned out to be correct; the male and female cell blocks were on a rotation, so that one group always had their leisure time while the other did their chores. While it meant that the women, who made up far less of the prison’s population than the men, had ample space to relax during their break time, it also meant that she would have to wait until meal times to speak to Killian again.

When it was finally time to rejoin the rest of the inmates for lunch, Emma had to admit she was looking forward to seeing the librarian during her next break.

Bidding farewell to her new acquaintance, she let Mary Margaret lead her back to the cafeteria, feeling a little lighter in her step.   


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm so sorry this one got away from me for so long! I'll try to be better for next one.  
> (Merci to HelloTragic for kicking me in the butt to get this out!)

Killian walked out of the cafeteria, feeling Emma’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head. 

He’d been thrown off at her admission that she’d killed a man and, while he’d wanted to push for more details, he’d made a split second decision to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he should have pushed further. She seemed more than willing to confess the first part, why wouldn’t she be willing to disclose more? Then again, reasoned a small voice inside him, if she had wanted to share her past with him, she would have.

Conflicted, Killian turned to follow a handful of prisoners from his row down the winding hallway to the recreation yard. As they stepped out into the fresh air, the bigger men made a beeline for the sprawling array of exercise equipment set up in the middle of the yard, their voices getting louder as they began claiming different sets. 

Killian stopped near the chain link fence that separated the recreation yard from the smaller courtyard that housed the maintenance buildings. Slipping his arms from his orange jumpsuit, he tied the sleeves together in a knot at his waist, leaving him in the flimsy white tee-shirt underneath. The laceless shoes and heavy fabric trousers the facility had issued him were far from ideal, but he made do, adjusting them so that he could move more freely. Out of the corner of his eye, Killian thought he saw a wisp of blond hair disappearing through the doorway of the small laundry building, but it had come and gone too fast for him to be certain. Turning away, he began his slow jog along the perimeter fence. 

Killian had started every morning since his admission to the facility this way. When he’d first arrived, Will had tried to drag him into a game of cards with a handful of other prisoners, but Killian had declined each time. It wasn’t long before Will stopped asking entirely; he’d never really understood Killian’s urge to run, given that they were surrounded on all sides by tall fences. But Killian needed it. He needed to feel his heart race within his chest, his breath leaving him in gasps by the end. 

It made him feel alive again, even if just for a moment. 

He could just make out the shapes of the guards perched high in the watchtower, the morning sun glinting off their heavy rifles as they peered down at the activity below. Will had nicknamed the perimeter guards “the gargoyles” given their unnatural stillness and the dark sunglasses that they all wore that masked their eyes. Killian couldn’t help but agree, though he knew that any sign of commotion could bring them alive in a moment, trigger fingers at the ready. 

He couldn’t help his thoughts turning again to the new prisoner as he jogged. There was something intriguing about her, though he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly stood out to him. She had shared practically nothing about herself. He didn’t even know her last name, he thought suddenly. He made a mental note to ask her later. If there even  _ was _ a later. 

He hoped there was. 

She was beautiful; there was no getting around the fact. Her long blond hair fell like strands of silk across her shoulders, and her eyes, though perhaps slightly haunted, still gleamed with mischief. She was not one to be trifled with, and he bet that whoever had crossed her had paid the ultimate price for doing just that. 

Perhaps they could be friends, he reasoned. Since his incarceration, he had only really made one friend, and that had been mostly due to his close quarters with Will. Some prisoners eagerly latched on to others as soon as they arrived at Faybelle, seeking some sort of camaraderie to help get them through their stay. Others were more solitary, insistent that they didn’t belong in this hell hole with the rejects of society and vowing to spit at the feet of each and every prisoner when they finally got parole. 

That, of course, was a fantasy; no one ever left Faybelle Rivers. Only the hopeless cases were sent here and once the door shut behind you, you never left. Many broke at the pressure, scratching and screaming at the walls until an exhausted orderly came to fetch them. They were sent to the third ward, where they would live out the rest of their days in a medicated haze, no one truly bothering to follow up on the assessments after a while. 

Killian had found his place somewhere in the middle, his acceptance of his situation as firm as his dedication to self-exile. Well, at least it  _ had _ been until a certain prisoner had arrived that morning. 

It wasn’t as though he’d never had anyone take an interest in him before. Indeed, some of the female prisoners had taken a fancy to him when he’d first arrived, and for a while he’d had prisoners approach him in the hallways, whispering lurid promises into his ear. He’d declined all of them, the propositions making his stomach churn. 

But no one had ever come up to simply  _ talk _ to him before. 

He wanted to engage with her, to see what made her tick and, hopefully, figure out what it was that appealed so strongly to him. He just hoped he wasn’t playing with fire. His solitude - although self-inflicted - had a purpose, and he was not willing to jeopardize his progress for a pretty face. No matter how beautiful said face was, or how thrilling it might be to unravel the mysteries that hid behind her delicate features. 

He was yanked away from whatever thought he’d been about to entertain next by the shrill sound of a whistle. Recreation time was over. Redressing in a hurry, he made his way back inside to begin his chores.

 

**********

Will was already waiting in the cafeteria, broom in hand, when Killian walked in a few minutes later after changing into a fresh shirt. He may not have been open to a quick romp in a dark stairwell, but he still knew how to use his charm to get an extra change of clothes from the maintenance clerk.

“I almost thought you’d stood me up,” Will complained mockingly. 

“Ah, Will, you know I can’t resist seeing your ugly mug every chance I get.” 

“Oi, you wound me, mate!”

Killian made his way over to the supply closet where the floor cleaner, mop, and bucket were stored. David, their guard, was stationed in the corner of the room where he normally stayed, supervising the two men. In a few minutes, like clockwork, Granny would saunter out with a cup of steaming coffee for him, he would graciously accept, she would pinch his cheek and tease him about his skinny bones, and he would ask her about her granddaughter. Faybelle Rivers was, if anything, predictable. 

Will began making broad strokes across the floor, sweeping the floors as Killian followed in his steps with the mop. Together, they slowly made their way across the room, moving at a practiced rhythm. 

Killian couldn’t help his thoughts flickering to Emma as he cleaned around the table they had eaten at just hours before.   

Hoping his voice sounded casual, he cleared his throat. “What did you think of the new girl?” 

Will rolled his eyes. “How did I know you were going to bring her up?” 

“What?” Killian asked innocently, “Can’t a man be curious about a new inmate?” 

“You can be curious all you like, but don’t think I didn’t see you making eyes at her.” 

“I don’t make eyes!” 

“Sure, mate.” 

Turning his gaze back to the spot on the floor, Killian tried again. 

“Do you think she did it?”

“What does it matter if she did it anyhow? She’s fit and this place ain’t gettin’ any bigger, mate. It’s not like you’re marrying the lass.” 

Killian stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Look,” Will sighed, leaning against his broom handle, “this place can get lonely. We all get it. No one would blame you if you took a moment for yourself. Live a little, before this place put you in your grave.”

“And, what? You don’t think that a woman wouldn’t be able to put me in my grave just as fast, if not faster?” 

“Trust me, mate,” Will laughed, “being put in your grave by a fine lady is a much more enjoyable was to go than whatever this place has to offer.” 

Although he had laughed as he’d said it, something in the man’s tone gave him away. A confession that lay just below the surface. 

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” Killian stated casually, trying to be delicate. He must not have been as tactful as he’d thought though, and he watched the laughter fade from his partner’s face. When he spoke again, he had a faraway look in his eyes.

“Aye, I guess you could say that. All I’ll say is that a life sentence is a very long time to house regrets. You don’t get a lot of opportunities to do new things in here, so take what you can get.”  

Killian was silent for a moment as he processed his partner’s words. Perhaps he had a point. It wouldn’t be a traditional courtship - even a simple touch was likely out of the question given the armed guards around them at any given point - but the thrill of the chase was tempting in itself. 

He looked over to find that Will had returned to sweeping the floors.

“I didn’t know you had such a way with words, Scarlet, ” Killian teased. A broom handle came up to thwack him in the arm. 

“Well, you’d better ‘ave enjoyed it ‘cuz that’s the last you’re gonna get, mate.” 

The easy banter continued for the rest of their shift, finishing their tasks in record time. It was all going rather smoothly until the lid of one of the containers of cleaner popped off as Will was trying to return it to it’s place on in the cupboard, the liquid spilling out over the shelf and dousing the prisoner. Will let out some colourful four letter words as he attempted to clear the chemicals from his face. 

Killian stepped toward his cell mate, careful not to step in the puddle on the floor. 

“Mate? You alright?” 

“Aye.  _ Bloody _ fantastic,” came the growled response.  

The sound had immediately prompted David to rush over to investigate, ordering Killian to step back as he examined the chaos. Will’s insistence that he was fine was quickly overshadowed by the fact that he was still blinking away the stinging in his eyes. After handing him some napkins from the counter to wipe his face, David led Will from the room with Killian following closely on his other side. Just as it was policy to escort a prisoner to the facility’s doctor in case of an accident, it was also policy that a guard was not to leave a prisoner on their own. 

Killian waited by the door as Will was handed over to Dr. Whale. It was not without a fuss, however; Will continued to maintain that he didn’t need a ‘bloody quack’ to check him over. Dropping down in an uncomfortable plastic chair, knee jittering with impatience, Killian listened as as David radioed in a guard to stay with Will so that he could return to his post. If by some miracle Emma wanted to sit with him again, he wanted to be ready. 

When David’s replacement arrived and it came time to return to the cafeteria for lunch, Killian found himself hard pressed to keep his pace even and not sprint down the hallway. 

 

**********

He wasn’t waiting for her. ‘Waiting’ would have meant that he expected her to come, that they had any sort of arrangement to see each other at all. Which they hadn’t, of course - they had eaten breakfast with each other  _ once _ . They could hardly be considered friends. No, he was simply keeping a watchful eye out for anything out of the ordinary. 

Killian sat down at his usual seat, grimacing at the sandwich before him.  _ Bologna _ .  _ Why did it have to be bologna? _ He briefly considered going on a hunger strike. 

He had just managed to take the first bite of the offensive sandwich when all of a sudden, a mass of blond hair appeared in his periphery. His eyes widened as, for the second time today, Emma plopped down into the seat across from him.

Killian glanced around the room and, sure enough, multiple sets of eyes were now trained on him and his companion. Their breach of the unspoken rule of segregation in the morning was one thing, but a second time? This was beginning to attract attention.  

He turned back to Emma just as she began digging into her own meal. He was thrilled that she had sought him out again and wanted nothing more than to delve into conversation with her, but there was something he needed to do first. 

“Look, lass, I know Will told you there wasn’t a rule about sitting with the men, but you should know that making yourself stand out in a place like this is not… ideal. You should heed my warnings on this one, love. ” 

It nearly killed him to push her away, but he needed to be sure that she understood the risk she was taking. Emma simply stared back and she took another bite of her sandwich. “Good to know. Consider me warned, then.”

_ Well _ , he decided,  _ she can’t say I didn’t warn her.  _

“Where’s your friend?” Emma asked suddenly. 

“He got in a bit of a row with a bottle of floor cleaner. He’s in with the physician now, getting his eyes rinsed out.” 

“Ouch,” Emma commented, amused. “Is he alright?” 

Killian waved off her concern. “Don’t worry about him, he’s always getting himself into trouble. You should have seen him after he accidentally knocked over Granny’s stack of new dishes. I’ve never seen him run so fast in his life.” 

“Granny?” 

“She’s the head cook here,” Killian explained, pointing to the elderly woman who was standing behind the counter, arms crossed as she watched the sandwiches being distributed. “She’s a bit rough, but she’s always been sweeter to the girls. I’ve heard she’ll give the girls an extra serving of juice, if they ask.” 

Emma tilted her head, confused. “Why would she do that?” 

“She doesn’t believe it’s right for the women to be locked up with the men.” 

Emma’s eyebrows went up at that. “What, she doesn’t think that the women can handle themselves?” 

Killian shrugged, “I think she thinks they shouldn’t have to.” 

He watched as she considered his words, her green eyes narrowed. She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. “I don’t know, I think we do alright for ourselves.”

“Oh, you’re a tough lass,” he grinned, picking up his coffee and bringing it to his lips. He couldn’t quite decipher the expression on her face, but, by the way her gaze flickered down to his lips before returning to look into his eyes, he thought he’d gained her attention. 

She seemed to shake herself out of wherever her thoughts had strayed and leaned back in her chair, arms coming up to cross over her chest. 

“You never told me why you’re in here.” 

And just like that, his blood turned to ice in his veins. Sure, he had heard her confess her crimes, but he that did not mean he was ready to confess his. He needed to deflect. 

“Sorry, lass, but that was not a tit for tat.” 

She looked mildly disappointed, her lips pressing together into a hard line. 

“Fine, then maybe we’ll start with something more simple.”  She paused, thinking. “I met Belle today. She said you like to spend your time in the library.” 

He couldn’t contain the surprise on his face. The library was his personal corner of heaven in the prison and the thought that she had been there stirred something possessive inside of him. 

“That’s not a question, love.” 

She pressed on. “What book are you reading now?” 

“Why, love? Looking for a recommendation?” Killian teased, the corners of his mouth curling up. 

“Maybe.” 

His smirk dropped slightly as he took in the sincerity of her words. He searched for any signs of a trap, any sign of trickery in her eyes, but found none.

“20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.” 

“I’ve read that one. It’s a good book.”  

“Aye, it reminds me of long days sailing on the ocean,” Killian responded, his eyes softening as he let the memories from his youth flitter across his mind’s eye, “There’s nothing like the feel of the ocean spray on your face, the salty smell of the ocean filling your lungs.” 

It was true; he missed the fresh ocean air and the soft sway of the world under his feet. People were often surprised to hear that - given all that had happened - but the sea had always been his means of escape. No one and nothing would ever take that away from him. 

“Did you grow up on the coast?” 

Her voice was soft, but it was enough to draw him out of his haze. Embarrassed at having been caught daydreaming, he shifted his attention to where his hands rested on the table. 

“My brother and I were in the navy together. Back in England.”

“Are you two close?”

Killian shifted in his seat. “He died.”  

“Oh.” 

He raised his eyes to meet hers, expecting to see the same pitying look that he received from everyone on the rare occasion that he talked about his brother. Instead, the sea glass green eyes staring back at him conveyed only understanding. 

It was a small thing, but it had been a long time since he’d talked about his brother with anyone and a part of him felt lighter for it. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have someone to confide in again. 

“Of course, I’ve never been on anything like the  _ Nautilus _ before,” he added with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood again. 

“Well,” she started, a wicked smile curling up on her pretty face, “the best part of the story has to be the ending.”

“Don’t you dare!” 

“You see it’s all going great, until -” 

Her voice was cut off as his hand came up across the narrow table to cover her mouth. He only had a second to register the surprise on her face before he was pulling his hand back and shoving it into his lap under the table. Touching another inmate was strictly forbidden. He was lucky he'd caught himself when he had; spending a night in solitary was not how he'd envisioned his day going. 

Even as he rubbed his hands under the table, desperate to avoid eye contact with the woman across from him, he could still feel the slight tingle from where her soft lips had come in contact with his skin. That was one of the tortures of being in Faybelle Rivers - the loss of any physical touch. He hadn't realised how much he missed it until now. 

Unwilling to let the moment fade, Killian forced himself to regain control of the conversation. 

“What about yourself? Have you ever been on the ocean?” 

Emma’s face seemed to fall slightly, but she recovered quickly. If Killian hadn’t been watching her so intently he might have missed it. 

“No. I grew up in a foster home - well,  _ multiple _ foster homes. None of them seemed to be super concerned with taking me anywhere nice. I think they were mostly in it for the support cheques.” 

The detached way she had spoken, as though she were giving a review of a bad movie she’d watched as opposed to recounting her childhood, made his heart ache. No child should feel like a meal ticket. 

“I’m sorry, lass.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” 

Emma looked ready to drop the subject, but Killian couldn’t fight his urge to reach out to her. He hadn’t noticed before, but at some point during their conversation they had begun to shift closer to each other. Careful not to touch her skin, he placed his hand on the table next to hers, delighting in the fact that she didn’t immediately pull away. He wanted nothing more than to take her hand in his and run his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. 

“Aye, but wounds made when we’re young tend to linger.” 

She gave him a half nod of appreciation at the gesture, a polite smile crossing her face before she finally broke his gaze and moved away to tuck her hair behind her ears. 

He couldn’t help imagining the look of loneliness and hopelessness marring the face of a young Emma. He knew the feeling; when his father had left him and his brother with their aunt all those years ago, he too had waited. He’d waited with baited breath for his father to walk through the door and scoop him up in his arms, an easy explanation for his absence rolling off his tongue. But that had never happened and, as weeks had turned into months, Killian had felt the small spark of hope in his chest fade and die out. Emma was a kindred spirit, he thought, though a part of him hoped that Emma was not as far gone as he was.  

They both returned to their meals in silence but the electric spark between them was enough to keep the hairs on his arms raised. He was almost certain that she sensed it too. He could feel her eyes piercing holes in his bowed head as he ate, mentally stripping away his armor. Either that or his clothing; he wasn’t quite sure which. 

His question was answered a few minutes later when Emma brushed up against him to put her tray away. He felt her move behind him, the barest of touches as the top of her thighs grazed the backs of his. To anyone else it would have appeared as an innocent mistake, but Killian felt himself suck in a breath as the electricity he had felt before surged anew. He made to move away, to give her access to the counter, but his muscles locked as he felt her lips at his ear. 

He thought for a moment she would speak, tease him for the flush that was crawling up his neck, but she merely hovered over his shoulder, letting him feel the warmth radiating from her body. She must have sensed his hesitation at the table after their touch and, like a shark having smelled blood in the water, had come back for another taste. 

It felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head when she finally pulled away, leaving him nearly gasping for air. 

Damn. It had been too long since he’d felt his body react this way. Not since before. Not since -  

His mind refused to go there, his racing heart slowing slightly as the reality of who and where he was settled back into him. 

He wasn’t surprised when he turned to find that she’d already disappeared amongst the throng of other prisoners. It hardly mattered, he needed to formulate a game plan for the next time he saw her. She had played her move and was assuredly waiting on him to make his. He couldn’t keep behaving like a lovestruck teenager around her.  

He’d never had very much to look forward to since his incarceration, but he couldn’t deny he found himself mentally counting down the minutes until he would see her again. She was a challenge, and Killian Jones had always enjoyed a challenge. 

It was at that moment that, somewhere deep inside his chest, he sensed the tender flame of a small ember come to life. 


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Whoops, it didn't update quite right so I had to try again!) Sorry for the long wait, but this chapter eluded me for a while. Hopefully this extra long update will help make up for the delay? 
> 
> Enjoy!

Perhaps it was her fault for daring to hope for something so ridiculous, but nothing seemed to be going right for Emma Swan.

The first disappointment had come when she’d entered the cafeteria later that afternoon only to find the room completely devoid of men. She had thought at the time that perhaps the women had just arrived early and the men had not yet returned from their chores, but as time wore on and not a single dark-haired, blue-eyed man walked into the room, Emma had felt her chest deflate a little. She had finished her meal alone, not caring that the rest of the women had taken up their usually seats in the corner.

She had been practically glowering by the time the guards had come to escort her to her cell for lights out and her bad mood had only worsened when she was ushered into the small cell that would be her home for the foreseeable future. Even without touching it she had been able tell that the mattress was going to be an issue; it was stained, lumpy and overused - and this coming from a girl who had spent most of her teenage years sleeping in the back of her bug.

She had curled up on her small cot, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest, and sulked. It was only then that her cellmate, a small blond who went by ‘Tink’, had explained the situation to her. Sunset was when the guards shifted over, allowing the exhausted day guards to return home to their families and their soft beds, while the equally exhausted - albeit more recently caffeinated - night guards shuffled into their posts. The caveat, she had explained, was that the facility became grossly understaffed at night, with guards being spread more thinly across the grounds. As such, the warden had created a system to counterbalance this; men and women ate dinner separately for dinners, with women eating and being sent to their cell blocks for lights out earlier. When it was confirmed that the first group of inmates were in lockdown, the night guards were shifted in to supervise the men’s meal time.

It was a delicate dance to be sure and the prisoners who had picked up on this sleight of hand were often on high alert during these times. They watched the routine with hawk-like intensity for any sign that the scale would tip in their favour, waiting for the security presence to become lacking enough to be a liability. The guards could sense this and were often tense until the moment the last inmate was sealed in for the night.

Emma hadn’t been thrilled to learn that she would likely be spending her evening meals alone for the remainder of her stay, and had only begun to begrudgingly accept the circumstances by the time the lights were shut off in her cell.

The world seemed to go quiet as the cell block plunged into darkness. She knew logically that there were dozens of bodies filling the rows of cells on either side of her - the rhythmic breathing of her own cellmate a stark reminder of that fact - but the lack of the visual cue was persuasive. For just a moment, she could imagine she was back in one of her old foster homes. She almost expected to hear the sharp ruffle of bedsheets and the soft groan of a wooden window frame being forced up, as one of the older girls snuck out for the night to rendezvous with her new boyfriend.  

That had never been Emma; the moment Emma had learned to climb her way down the side of the garage to the soft grass lawn below, she had never bothered to return. From then on, the only windows that she’d ever had to look through had had steel bars across them. 

She pushed away the bad memories, instead allowing the events from the day to swirl around in her mind as she attempted to make herself comfortable on the small mattress.  

As far as incarcerations had gone, this one had had a… unique start. Had it really been less than 24 hours since she’d been driven through the prison gates? She had never been so quick to acquaint herself with the other inmates before. And she sure as _hell_ had never flirted with any of them the way she had with Killian Jones.

Then again, she had never before been convicted of a crime so heinous and so assuredly had the key to her freedom thrown away. Perhaps that was it, she reasoned to herself; a lust that originated from something she could never have.  

What a _pathetic_ reason to moon over a man, she thought to herself.  

No, it couldn’t have been lust - well, not _entirely_ , at least. It must have been the adrenaline; her first day at the prison, a tall, dark stranger stepping in to intervene during a high stress situation. Killian Jones had just happened to be in the right place at the right time and her emotions had grasped onto that.

God, she must have looked like such a fool, hovering over him and trying to tempt him into touching her. What could he possibly think of her now?

It didn’t matter, she reasoned. As far as she was concerned, they had nothing in common with each other. How could they? She could tell that he had never grown up like her. He had grown up _loved_ ; the evidence of it shone through every line on his face, in every small flash of smile. She had seen it as a kid on the face of every classmate whose parents had come to pick them up after school, their vans packed with duffle bags of sports equipment and little league tshirts. Even in class, when their parents were far away at work at their steady jobs, she could sense it humming somewhere under the surface. A sort of lightness in their hearts that never went away, even on the darkest of days.   

And Killian Jones had it, she was certain. He knew what it was like to love and be loved. Perhaps he even had someone on the outside waiting for him. It wouldn’t surprise her if he did. Even if she was wrong about his upbringing - which, for the record, she was sure she wasn’t - he was far too handsome to not be missed by at least _someone_. She felt a pang of jealousy at the thought.

No, she thought as she drifted to sleep, they were nothing alike and they never would be.

******

Emma woke up with the sunrise the next morning, her body refreshed and mind determined.

A small part of her worried that shutting out her only friend - no, _acquaintance_ \-  in the facility would leave her isolated and vulnerable, but she quickly squashed it. She wasn’t about to let her emotions get the best of her, especially when she would have nowhere to run.

So it came as a surprise when, instead of leading her down the corridor to the cafeteria with the rest of the prisoners, Mary Margaret pulled her aside and led her down an entirely different hallway toward the reception desk. She tried to get more details about her sudden detour, but the guard had simply responded that she was going to be completing the second half of her introduction to the prison. Any cheeriness that the guard had displayed the day before had apparently evaporated with the morning dew. The uniformed woman in front of her was nothing but stern and professional, and Emma found herself surprisingly disappointed by that fact.

The reason for the apparent personality change became clear the moment that she stepped through the door to the visitor's room.

Walsh.

Her court appointed lawyer had arrived. She could only imagine what he could have said to the pixie cut guard to put her in such a mood. She liked to think that she wasn’t being all that over dramatic in believing that prison in the underworld run by Hades himself would be a better alternative to spending even a minute in the smug attorney’s presence.

Frowning, she sat down in the plastic seat across from him as Mary Margaret took her sentry spot at the door.

Everything about the man in front of her reeked of lawyer; from his overly polished shoes to the expensive haircut to the fitted designer suit. Walsh had apparently gone out of his way to make sure his rank as a free man was clear to the orange clad prisoners. Emma was sure he was compensating for something.

“Emma! How nice to see you again.”

“Is it?” She answered, bored.

“It’s always nice to see my favourite femme fatale. And you do look well, I must say. Even with all the...” he gestured vaguely at her outfit, “orange.”  

“Is there a reason that you’re pulling me away from my breakfast, Walsh?”

He smirked at her frustration. “You know I would never let you starve, Emma. In fact, I’m here on your behalf. I told you I would be there to see you settled at Faybelle Rivers and I meant it. So you can imagine my outrage when I was contacted by the warden last night to say that you had arrived ahead of me.” He paused, turning his hawkish gaze momentarily on Mary Margaret. “The incompetence in this place amazes me.”

The guard simply turned her chin up at that, glaring back.

“Anyways, I’m here to go over the paperwork of your admission here with you, now that you’ve had the night to get settled in.” With that, he opened up his briefcase and took out a thick stack of documents. Emma groaned internally. This was assuredly not how she’d imagined her day going.  

They spent hours filling out paperwork, going through the facility rules and signing her agreement to each of the numbered statements. They had just finished going over the instructions for making outgoing phone calls - not that she planned on ever making one anyhow - when a guard arrived with a small lunch plate, complete with a small lemon tart. Emma had no idea where Granny had scrounged up the sweet treat, but by the way Walsh had appeared smug at the appearance of the food, she suspected he had twisted the warden’s arm to arrange the little “lunch date”. It was with great pleasure that she watched the man’s wolfish grin turn sour when she finished her meal and left the dessert untouched.  

“Must we always fight like this, Emma?” The lawyer sighed, closing his eyes and bringing his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her feigned innocence only deepened his scowl.

“Here I’ve tried to do something nice for you, and you’ve thrown it back in my face!”

“First of all, I don’t think you do anything just to be ‘nice’. And secondly, I know that everything comes with a price with you. I’m not a some silly little girl that you can fool, Walsh.”

His face had turned purple with rage, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring as he tried to calm his temper. Emma thought he looked rather like a monkey like this. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to calm himself. Something must have occurred to him because suddenly his mood shifted and his face softened a bit, though the predatory look in his eye remained.  

“No, you aren’t, are you? You’re very much a grown woman, capable of making all of her own decisions. I didn’t mean anything by the pastry.”

Emma scoffed at that, but Walsh was determined to push on.   

“I think you’ll find that I’ve fulfilled my part as your representative in this case. That said, Miss Swan, I _do_ like you and I would hate to see you rot in a place like this.” He paused, turning to glance at where Mary Margaret stood before leaning in so that only Emma could hear him.  “I think you’ll find that with the right _incentive_ ,” he whispered lowly, letting his eyes fall to her lips momentarily before continuing, “I can make a great deal go your way.”

And there it was.

She was almost tempted to take the offer, if only to use it to ensure that the next time they met he’d be in a matching orange jumpsuit. Instead, she leaned across the table, her body mirroring his.

“Over your dead body.”

“Now, now, you don’t mean that.”  

“Don’t I?” She stared him right in the eye, unblinking, as she watched him chew the inside of his cheek as he consider her question. But he was taking too long and Emma knew she had him.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move back.” The harsh sound of the guard’s voice startled the lawyer out of his thoughts. Backing down, he broke her gaze and began scribbling down notes into his notepad. Emma looked to where Mary Margaret was staring daggers of her own at the greasy man. Even though she had certainly not heard the whispered conversation between the pair, Emma had no doubt that the guard had understood every word of it.  

It was a relief when Walsh finally took his leave, promising to check in again in a few months to see how she was faring. He had probably intended for it to sound reassuring, but Emma not so secretly hoped he would fall off the face of the earth before her parole hearing came up in a few years. If he was as bad at his job as all evidence indicated he was, perhaps that hope wasn’t so far off.

It was late afternoon now, and she would barely have time to drop the spare linens and toiletries she’d been issued back in her cell before she would have to leave to have dinner. _Alone._ That fact shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did, but after the hellish day she’d been having, she couldn’t deny that she would have liked someone to vent to.

She ate quickly, too put out from the events from the day to really taste the food before her. Fortunately she only needed to get through an hour of free time before it would be lights out and she’d be able to fall into a blissful sleep. A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that tomorrow would likely bring more of the same, but she pushed it away. Entertaining those kind of thoughts was a surefire way to go lose your mind in a place like this.

Just as she was getting ready for another hour of solitude in the library, she was stopped by her cellmate, Tink.

“How about you join us for a game of cards?”

She was caught off guard by the friendly offer and couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Besides, hadn’t she just been complaining about her lack of company?

Jumping on her hesitation, the petite woman gave her a polite grin. “Perfect! Come on, then.”

Emma followed behind as she was led into the games room. A group of prisoners had already pulled up chairs to a small, circular table in the middle of the small room, one with a deck of cards in their hand. They looked up as the pair approached.  

“What’s this?” One of them asked, eyeing Emma before turning her piercing gaze on Tink. It was the same woman who had helped her with laundry the day before. Tamara.

To her credit, the small blond didn’t flinch. “Emma’s my new cellmate. I thought she could join the table. You were saying last week that with Tiana in the infirmary we were low in players, so I found one.”

“Does she even know how to play?”

“ _She_ does, actually,” Emma spoke up, annoyed at being sidelined in a conversation about her. She wasn’t entirely sure what the game even was, but she’d be damned if she’d show her hand - so to speak - on that front. 

Tamara gave her another once over before sitting down heavily in her chair and dealing out the cards.  

To Emma’s great relief, the game was poker, something she excelled at. The other women seemed half decent enough players, and even Tink pulled an impressive poker face now and then. But none were as good as Emma, and it quickly became apparent to the newbie that Tamara's good fortune had more to do with her sticky fingers than any real skill. Emma pocketed the information for later; it would do no good to call her out on the first go. No, there was no reason to be rash. She could be patient.  

The game began to heat up as Emma and Tamara began taking the lead, with both having a hefty amount of chips at their disposal. But each time that it appeared that Emma was gaining the upper hand, Tamara was right there with a card that she shouldn't have had in her arsenal.  

Things finally reached boiling point when Emma's should-be winning hand lost out for a third time in a row to Tamara's and Emma began noticing the frowns on the other players’ faces. Apparently they had never had a player make their leader sweat before and her wins were becoming more obvious.   

It was Tink who eventually broke the silence. “There’s no way you have that,” she accused, nodding at the cards clutched in Tamara’s hands.

“What are you on about?”

“Those cards. You can’t have them.”  

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I think you know.”

For a moment, Emma expected there to be another fight like the one in the laundry building and she felt her muscles tense with adrenaline. But Tamara just rolled her eyes and threw her cards down before pushing away from from the table. “Don’t be such a sore loser, fairy.”

“Fairy?” Emma murmured, confused, watching her retreating back as she made her way to another table where the redhead from yesterday was sitting.

The rest of the women at the table had apparently taken their leader’s departure as a cue that the game was over, abandoning their hands and winnings in a messy heap on the table. Tink stood up as well, looking as if she was preparing to leave too, but she simply sighed and began collecting the cards.

“For Tinker Bell,” she explained, “You can thank Ariel for that one. That girl can find a fairy tale in anything.”   

“Oh good, I wonder what mine will be,” Emma joked lightly.

The Australian made a show of thinking it over. “How about the ‘ice queen’?”

“Wasn’t she a villain?”  

“Who knows?” Tink laughed, giving Emma a bright smile. Her looked back down at the cards on the table. “Er - do you want to play another game?” 

“Sure.” Emma returned her smile, injecting as much warmth into it as possible. It appeared she was well on her way to actually making a friend.

The Australian plopped back down in her seat and began organizing the cards. Now that the rest of the group was gone, it was time to test her theory.

“Does Tamara always cheat like that?”

Tink paused her shuffling, blinking at the question. “I’m not sure. I guess we’ve never really noticed before. None of us are really as good as…  well, as good as _you_ are.”

Emma blushed at the compliment. Even though she was sitting across from a convicted criminal, she was too embarrassed to admit that most of her own skill had come from swindling gullible drunks in the same way Tamara just had.

Tink rambled on as she started dealing out the cards on the table between them. “But let’s talk about you! You’re one of us, I’ve heard.”

“One of you?”

“One of the murderesses, sweetie.”  

Emma’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Solid piece of advice? Don’t ever tell a thing to Will Scarlet that you wouldn’t want everyone else knowing too.”

Emma frowned. Sure, it had never been her plan to hide her rap sheet, but she’d always planned on being the one to tell people. The fact that she no longer seemed to have control over that bit of information was concerning.

She was about to push for more details - find out who else now knew of her past indiscretions - when the rest of the blue-eyed belle’s words sank in.

“Wait, ‘one of us’? So you’ve killed someone?”

“Well, yes.”

The silence grew between them and Emma worried she had pushed too far. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, no, it’s alright. It’s not exactly a secret,” she confessed, organizing her chips in a pile. She let out a deep breath before continuing.

“My sister - Wendy - was sick for a long time. One of those African diseases or something that she got when she was out doing her missions there.” Tink paused, a small smile on her face as she became drawn into memories that Emma wasn’t privy to. “She was always doing good things like that. Wouldn’t take any praise from it.”

“She sounds like a good sister.”

“Yeah.” Tink smiled. “I was always going with her to her doctor's appointments and they kept trying to give her all sorts of fancy drugs with big price tags, but I only saw them make her sicker. So when I heard of this drug that could help her without any of the horrible side effects, I did everything I could to get my hands on it. I got in contact with a man who said he could get me some and we arranged a meet up.” The petite woman looked down, ashamed.  “I know it was stupid, but I was desperate.”

Understanding dawned on Emma. “He didn’t show, did he.” It wasn’t a question.  

Tink laughed humorlessly. “No, sweetie, he showed up. But he’d apparently decided that the price we’d agreed upon was no longer in his favour. He’d raised it nearly four times that!”

Emma’s heart clenched. She had had her own dealings with men like that and knew how easy it was to fall into that trap. They could smell desperation from a mile away and were keenly aware of how to use it to their advantage. The naive woman in front of her would have made for the perfect target.

Tink’s eyes had grown wide over the telling of the story, her voice now an octave or two higher than normal. “Well I didn’t know what to do! There I was, a few moments away from getting the medicine for Wendy and this snake decides to double cross me for a few pennies? Well, I did what I had to. I shot him.”

“You shot him?”

“Mhm. Twice.”

Emma must not have masked her surprise as well as she thought, and when Tink continued on a second later, her words were distinctly more defensive.

“You have to understand, I was scared nearly to death! If I hadn’t a shot him, he could have gotten mad and killed _me_ instead, just for the money I had. It was self-defence, through and through.”

“What about your sister? Did Wendy get the medicine?”

“Well that was the thing, really. Apparently they did all these tests on the vials that he’d given me after I was arrested and the medicine was nothing more than cheap painkillers.” Tink’s face had darkened, her delicate features twisting with rage. “That lying son of a bitch!”  

“So Wendy.... she’s….?” Emma didn’t know how to finish her question, dreading the answer.

“Oh! No, sweetie, Wendy’s fine,” Tink answered quickly, “The doctors said she’s taking to the new treatment real well and she looks to be doing much better now.”  

“That’s really great, Tink,” Emma encouraged, finding herself relieved that - for at least someone - a happy ending was in sight. But a troubled look quickly overtook the Australian’s face and she began toying with the edges of her playing cards.

“She hasn’t really spoken to me since I was arrested. I said I wouldn’t hire a fancy lawyer or anything so she could use that money for her treatment, so I like to think I did right by her at least with that.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel her heart clench for her cellmate. It was looking more and more like the prison was a pit where society’s most unlucky were cast away together, rather than a security measure to help protect the rest of society. Who honestly believed that the cartoonishly sweet woman sitting across from her was beyond rehabilitation? That redemption wasn’t possible for a woman who had naively committed premeditated murder over a bottle of snake oil?

No, the system had to be fractured if these were her cohorts. Emma had come across many broken souls before, had seen souls that were too far gone for even the best professionals to fix. Tink was not one of them.  She felt nothing but pity for the woman who had had nothing to lose and, when faced with the choice between saving her sister or walking away, had chosen the former.

Hoping to ease her mind a bit, Emma offered the only consolation she could.

“It sounds like Wendy was very sick. Maybe she just needs time.”

Tink gave a grateful half smile at that, though the worried lines on her face remained fixed in place. “Of course, sweetie. That must be it.”

There was a pause as they both resumed their game, neither quite knowing what to say. After another hand, Tink piped up with the question that Emma had been secretly dreading.

“Will says you’re in here for murder too.” 

“Yeah. He was my boyfriend - er, well, I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend now.”

“I bet he was an ass.”

A laugh burst out from her mouth before she could stop it. “Yeah,” she confessed, “he was.”

“Well good riddance, anyways. Some people just aren’t meant to be on this earth, walking and breathing with the rest of us.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond to that; she wasn’t quite sure she liked the idea of joining the ranks of the so called “murderesses”. Luckily she was saved from having to answer as Tink continued on.

“I suppose that’s why we connect with each other, those of us who have taken lives. We understand each other like no one else does. Like you and I do,” she said, sorting out the cards splayed in her hand, “or you and your new boyfriend.”

That got Emma’s attention. “What are you talking about?”

Tink barely looked up as she shrugged. “That man you keep sitting with for mealtimes. Killian Jones.”

“What about him?”

Tink laughed in disbelief. “You mean you _don’t know_? He hasn’t told you?”

“No.” She bristled at the thought that he’d apparently been comfortable telling others at the prison, but wouldn’t confide in her.

“Hon, he killed his girlfriend.”

Emma froze.

_He killed his girlfriend?_

Probably registering her shock and discomfort, Tink backed off, a hint of understanding in her voice.  

“Well don’t feel bad, I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t tell many people. I only found out because Will let it slip once. I swear, sometimes all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and push up the girls a bit and that man will sing -”

Emma cut her off. “You’re sure?”

“About what?”

“Are you sure that he did it?”  

“Well, Will Scarlet isn’t exactly the best source of information and he has been known to exaggerate from time to time, especially about himself,” she admitted, “But I don’t think he would lie about this.”  

“Did he tell you what happened exactly?”

“No, but whatever it was, it was bad.”

Emma frowned, confused. “How do you know that, if you don’t even know what happened?”  

“Because,” Tink shifted in her seat, eager to share her gossip, “when Killian first arrived, he used to have the doctor come visit him all the time. Apparently he was having awful nightmares. I heard some of the men on his floor say they could hear him screaming and crying in his sleep. Will even said he woke up one night and found him scrubbing his hands raw in the sink. He said he was trying get the blood off, apparently.”  

Emma could see it; Killian hunched over the small basin, eyes wild and face full of sweat as he desperately tried to wash away the evidence of his crime. She’d had similar nightmares in the beginning too. Something softened in her at the thought that she shared anything in common with the reclusive man.  

A selfish part of her wished he’d been the one to tell her. She had wanted to see the look in his eyes when he confessed his sins to her, to see if what she found there was another thing they shared. She hoped it would be the same look. For his sake, though, she hoped it would be different.

She had to know, one way or another. She needed to see him again.

Thoughts racing, Emma glanced around the small table where Tink had already begun dealing the cards for a new hand. She didn’t have a lot of time, but perhaps she could be there and back before lights out.

“Do we have any paper?” Emma asked suddenly.

 

*******

 

He’d been moody all evening and he was sure that Will had started to notice. He’d arrived back from his stint in the infirmary yesterday whining and groaning about being treated like a ‘bloody invalid’. He had clearly been looking to vent, and though he’d tried to pay attention to his friend, he’d kept finding his mind wandering to Emma.

It wasn’t Will’s fault, truly. In all the excitement of the day, he’d forgotten the standard dinner arrangements; women ate first, men second. It had only meant he’d have to wait until tomorrow to see her, but he’d still felt his mood sour at that realisation. He’d had so much planned for the next morning, so much he had been prepared to ask her.

But when she had failed to appear for both scheduled meal times today, his stomach had turned to lead.

He had briefly considered the possibility that she was simply avoiding him, a dreadful feeling settling in his chest at the thought that she might have become bored with him so soon. It gnawed at him more that it should have.

He practically jumped out of his seat as soon as the buzzer sounded to indicate the end of mealtime, leaving Will to scramble to keep up. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly crashed into his cell mate when Will stepped out in front of him as he reached the doors.  

“Mate?” Will was trying to catch his eye, but Killian couldn’t bear to see the concern there. Will pushed on regardless. “Tomorrow morning, alright?” 

He hadn’t said it outright, but Killian knew what he was really asking. Shaking his head and keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, Killian sighed. “Aye. Apologies, Scarlet, I'm not quite feeling myself tonight.”

It was a weak excuse, one that Will no doubt instantly saw through, but instead of fighting, his cellmate backed off.

“‘Course, Jones. I'll see you at lights out.”

With a short nod, Killian made his way to the library. It had been a long day - the longest he’d had since arriving, he thought. He needed to lose himself again in the quiet peace he had cultivated for himself.  

He didn’t bother checking behind him to see if a guard was trailing him. He had no doubt that someone had spotted his exit; the night shift guards had long since learned the activity preferences of the inmates.  

Sure enough, a guard scurried ahead to unlock the doors as they approached the library. Belle had already left for the night, but technically the prisoners were allowed access until lockdown.

He immediately moved to where he knew his book was tucked away, taking a moment to run his fingers across the rough spine. It was so different, so coarse, compared to the soft lips he had touched just yesterday. He’d been foolish to touch her, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Besides, everyone knew you didn’t speak of the ending of a book - it was bad form.

He tugged the book from the shelf and moved to sit in his favourite chair in the corner. As he settled in for his final hour of solitude, he briefly wondered if Emma had sat in this very seat yesterday. Had she picked up a book of her own? He’d forgotten to ask at the time. He mentally added that to the growing list of things he would need to ask her. Letting out a long breath to settle his mind, he opened the book to his marked page.

A half folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor at his feet. _Well, that was new._ Snatching it up, he examined the crumpled parchment. Although it was only folded in half, the paper was littered with folds, almost as though someone had tried to conceal it in their hand before placing it in the book cover. Curious, he unfolded it, smoothing it out as he took in the fine, handwritten scrawl.   

 

_Dear Killian,_

_I know how you ended up here. I can also guess why you didn’t want to tell me. But if anyone understands what it’s like going through this, it’s me. I just wanted you to know that._

_Belle can’t keep raving about your taste in books, and since it looks like we’ll both be in here for a while, I was wondering if you might give me a book recommendation. No murder mysteries though, please. (That was a bad joke, I’m sorry). Maybe something adventurous, somewhere that takes me away from this place._

_Keep going, Captain Jones. I think you’re really gonna like what comes next._

_Emma Swan_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Review? Follow me on Tumblr (@best-left-hook-jones)


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